


Westward Wandering Tramp (The Rome Has Fallen Remix)

by coricomile



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander doesn’t like to think of himself as the kind of guy that frequents bars, but here he is and here is his drink, and the facts add up to a one-way street to drunk town. He’s only been able to legally drink for three years, but he’s a fast learner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Westward Wandering Tramp (The Rome Has Fallen Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musesfool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Older and Far Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/774113) by [victoria_p (musesfool)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p). 
  * In response to a prompt by [victoria_p (musesfool)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



Xander doesn’t like to think of himself as the kind of guy that frequents bars, but here he is and here is his drink, and the facts add up to a one-way street to drunk town. He’s only been able to legally drink for three years, but he’s a fast learner. 

It surprises him how young he is on paper. He’s lived the life of a hundred men- at least six in a literal sense. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees the eye patch and the scars from a thousand battles and the bit of gray that’s creeped in under the strap of the patch. He’s only been carded a few times and he laughed in their faces each time.

He doesn’t look young. Maybe he never has.

When the guy in the oversized sweater sits across from him, Xander considers packing it in for the night. The bar’s gotten kind of full, and he should probably go to sleep before he has to go out with the Slayerettes. They make him feel old without even trying. He’s going to die young and not even leave a pretty corpse.

"Is this seat taken?" The man asks, dragging his beer closer to himself. He has to be at least two decades older than Xander, but his face is soft, almost boyish around his crooked smile. He’s thin and tall, weedy like Xander never was. Maybe Xander can stick around for a little bit after all.

"It is now, I guess," he says. He takes a sip of his beer, looking him over. The scars over his face skirt pretty close to his eye, jumping over the socket at the last second to land back on his nose. Another couple of inches, and they’d have nice matching eye wear.

"Remus Lupin," the man says. Xander bites back a laugh at the last second. Oh, man, that’s a loaded name if he’s ever heard one. Oz, wherever the fuzzy guy might be, would love it.

"Xander Harris." Xander clasps his hand, almost surprised to feel how strong it is. He shouldn’t be. If Buffy taught him anything, it was that looks could be deceiving. 

"Here on holiday?" Mr. Wolf McWolfen asks, the soft English drawl to his voice reminding Xander a bit of Giles. It’s not as much of a turn off as it could be. Maybe what they say about guys with daddy issues is true. Remus takes a fry off Xander’s half-finished plate, popping it past his full lips and raising his eyebrows.

"Something like that." Xander wishes he were on vacation. 

He hasn’t been on one- well, ever. Maybe one, if he counts that time he and Jesse skipped classes for a week straight and spent the whole time in the arcade. He doesn’t know what he’d do with a real vacation. Sleep, maybe. A week of sleep without the constant shrieking of teenage girls and constant threat of vamps is probably the best thing he can think of. Remus takes another fry. Under the table, his foot nudges entirely unsubtly against Xander’s.

"Bad break-up?" Remus asks. Xander snorts into his glass. 

"That's one way of putting it," he mumbles. He’s still got Anya’s blood on his hands, Renee’s blood. Every girl he’s ever loved has died, tried to kill him, or both. He looks at Remus’ gentle face, at the long line of his throat, and figures he might as well try the other side. Just for a bit. See if it does him any good.

“You look a bit young to be so… sad,” Remus says. Xander wants to laugh again. The dude has no idea. None at all. Age was a number that meant _nada_ , and he really, really didn’t look young. Same verse, same as the first.

"I'm twenty-four," he says. In Scooby years, that’s over a century. He could be this guy’s great-grandpa in Scooby years. Xander shivers and lets the thought drop. Gross.

When he glances up, Remus is smiling at him, eyebrows raised and a hint of tooth showing at the edge of his mouth. He doesn’t look boyish anymore. He looks like a man who hasn’t eaten for a while, and Xander’s for dinner. Xander’s been in that position before- way more than he’s comfortable admitting in his head- but. What the hell.

He finishes his beer in one swallow and tosses a few ridiculously colored bills onto the table. Here’s to hoping Remus isn’t another in the long string of bad choices he’s made before. 

"I've got a hotel room not far from here,” Xander says. Remus is already beside him, dipping his head in a quick nod. Standing, it’s easy to see just how tall he really is. Xander has to tilt his head back a little to look him in the eye. It’s strange, but kind of hot. 

It’s chilly outside even though it’s allegedly spring. Xander doesn’t miss California, but he does miss the sun. London’s fucking terrible, Hellmouth notwithstanding. It’s always raining somewhere, and the Vamps don’t seem to care. He’s started to buy tissues and Nyquil in bulk. There’s nothing quite like a house full of sick girls, all moaning about the umpteenth pair of ruined shoes.

Xander realizes abruptly that he’s become a father of a dozen. He didn’t sign that contract, damn it. When June comes around, he expects at least four mugs and a tie. Not that he’s ever got a reason to wear a tie, but it’s _tradition_.

His hotel isn’t really all that far away, maybe three blocks. Remus seems content to walk quietly beside him, hands loose at his sides and hair blowing a bit in the wind. But Xander’s never been good at quiet, and he’s definitely never been good at hook-ups. What’s he supposed to do until they’re having a good ol’ fashioned rub and tug? Conversation? Jittery silence? Flirt? All options sound like hell.

"So, are you a werewolf?" Xander asks, falling back on his old friend humor. Remus jerks a little, startled by his voice, and then gives him one of those _please, stop talking_ laughs that Xander’s painfully familiar with. Stupid humor. Fails him every time.

"What makes you say that?" Remus asks, his dark eyes locked on the sidewalk. One more block. He couldn’t have kept his big mouth shut for one more block.

"Your name- Sorry. Bad joke." For a second, Xander can’t believe that no one else has ever razzed him about it. Then he remembers that not everyone’s been raised enough on the supernatural to go there first. 

"I only bite if you ask nicely," Remus says brightly, apparently nonplussed by Xander’s fumbling. "One bad joke deserves another." Xander laughs a little. Okay, good. A guy with a sense of humor. Or a lack of one. Something. 

Xander pulls open the door to the hotel and waves Remus inside. He’s got two more nights here before he goes back to HQ. He’s going to miss the quiet. And the bathroom. His manly, empty bathroom that’s free at all hours of the day.

"Well, I'm asking nicely," Xander says when they cross into the rickety elevator. If they’re going to do cheesy lines, he’s going to do it _right_. The elevator’s small, and Xander uses it as an excuse to stand too close to Remus. Remus who bleeds out heat even though Xander’s fingers feel frozen from the short walk.

When the door dings open on the third floor, Xander stumbles out. He gropes in his back pocket for his keycard and takes a deep breath. Now that they’re here, the full impact of what’s about to happen hits him. A thin rush of arousal creeps up into his stomach, followed immediately by the ever constant fear that, once the deed is done, something terrible will happen.

Slap his face on an abstinence poster. He’s living proof that sex only leads to horror movie monsters popping out of the closet.

Remus closes the door behind him with a soft click. Xander never turns the lights out when he leaves, aware that going in with some advantage is better than none, and even in the crappy lamplight, Remus looks golden. Golden hair and soft skin and beige clothes that make him blend in faultlessly. 

Xander gives him a half smile and tries not to wonder why someone who looks like him was out on the prowl. He looks like the kind of guy with a wife- husband?- and a few dogs, mild-mannered and maybe absent minded. Xander’s not going to question it. He’s going to get _laid_.

Remus reaches out to him, sure in a way Xander isn’t. His fingers curl around Xander’s cheek, thick and warm, and his thumb settles into the dip of Xander’s lip. The scars over his face looks darker close up, more like the claw marks they probably are. The urge to put his mouth there, right on the edge of his temple where they start, rises up so suddenly that Xander feels dizzy with it. He pokes his tongue out, tastes the salty pad of Remus’ thumb, and tells himself everything’s free game.

He pulls Remus into him by the hips, a little surprised at how heavy he is, and kisses him. 

Remus responds eagerly, his fingers slipping down to hold Xander’s chin in place. It’s hot and a little messy, mouths open and tongues sliding together. Xander hasn’t kissed someone like this in too long. Remus tastes like beer and chocolate, sweet and bitter at the same time, and Xander chases it.

They trip over each other’s feet as Xander backs towards the giant bed- the one luxury he ever demands from the Council- and Xander falls over it more than sits when they get there. Remus pins him down, knees to either side of Xander’s hips, and bites delicately at the edge of Xander’s jaw.

Xander shudders, hands scrabbling to find the hem of Remus’ sweater. It’s soft in his hands, long worn knit that’s gone buttery. Some other time, Xander would like to pull it on and curl up in it like a drowsy cat. Some other time, when he can’t feel Remus’ erection pressing against his thigh. 

Remus pulls away long enough to yank it over his head, and then he’s back to nipping at Xander’s throat, verging on the edge of just enough but never quite getting there. Xander runs his hands over the newly exposed expanse of his back, feeling the familiar thickness of scars under his fingers. There’s dozens of them, all of different sizes and thicknesses. Xander wants to ask what kind of bear attacked him, and when, but he’s too busy gasping up at the ceiling like an idiot.

When he runs out of skin, Remus undoes the buttons of Xander’s shirt with one hand, watching him with wide, dark eyes. Xander drags him in for another kiss, hands tangled up in the soft curls of Remus’ hair. When he bites down on Remus’ plush lower lip, testing a theory, Remus literally, actually _growls_ at him like a feral animal. 

Together, they manage to fumble the flannel overshirt out of the way and wrangle his t-shirt up and off. When Remus leans over him again, tongue pressing to the throbbing pulse of Xander’s throat, it’s all bare skin and heat and the start of sweat. 

Remus is almost too hot to touch, feverish skin reminding Xander of the beach in the summer. It’s got to be a coping mechanism for the endless cold of England. Xander wonders, briefly, if Remus can share his heat-secret. Later. At a less pressing time. 

Xander rocks his hips up, choking back a moan when his hard on slides against Remus’. It’s strange to feel something hard there instead of soft give, but it’s good, too. Good is not the right word. It feels _great_. It feels _awesome_.

“Oh, god,” Xander groans, head thumping against the mattress. Remus shifts- and hello there new angle, nice to meet you- and then that hot, wet mouth closes in on one of Xander’s nipples.

It sends a wave of heat straight down to his cock, which twitches happily in his jeans. Xander digs his nails into the soft skin of Remus’ hips, using him as leverage to grind up against him. Remus hum around his nipple, teeth sinking in a little, and Xander bucks.

He feels like a teenager again. It’s fucking amazing.

“Stop,” Xander says, whimpering pathetically when Remus actually does. “No, don’t stop. Stop bad. Xander good.” Christ, he’s a moron, but Remus just laughs and goes back to mauling him. Xander sincerely hopes that he’s got hickeys in the morning. Bruises not caused by the big bad of the week would be a welcome change.

“Xander good,” Remus agrees, shifting down to lick the faint line parting Xander’s abs. Xander’s cock strains up against his jeans, reaching out for him. He thinks about the way Remus’ hot mouth would feel around him, wonders how much two extra decades of sucking cock adds to technique. He’s not going to last long at all. Yeah, he definitely feels like a teenager again.

“Wait,” Xander says, ignoring the soft huff of breath Remus puffs out around his navel. “I want to blow you. Can I blow you? What guy says no to a blowjob?”

“Not this one,” Remus says, placing one last kiss the place over Xander’s bulging jeans. He moves up Xander’s body like an overgrown cat, his lean biceps bunching as he holds himself over Xander. Xander leans up to kiss him, searching for that fading taste of chocolate, before flipping them over.

Remus sprawls comfortably on the mattress, long limbs spread out wide. His front is just as scarred as his back, a particularly brutal knot low on his forearm. Xander’s got his fair share of battle scars, littered across his body like bad Pollock painting. There’s a few he remembers getting clearly, the memories burned into his brain forever, but most of them have faded into the background. He’s been living in a warzone since he was a kid. Time tends to run together.

He runs his fingers down the center of Remus’ chest, fingertips catching in the soft brush of hair there. When he presses his face to it, just to test the feeling, it smells faintly of sweat. Remus strokes his hair, carefully avoiding the straps of the eyepatch to keep from jostling it. 

It had taken Xander forever to get used to it. It was forever getting tangled in his shirts and his hair, and it felt like it was squeezing his brain. The thing is still kind of annoying, still kind of itchy when he wears it too long, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s part of him now, and he has to deal with it. 

Remus is a little soft in the middle, age or inactivity or a little of both showing, but the muscles underneath are strong and firm when Xander pushes against them. He can see the line of Remus’ cock through his khakis. It’s a little daunting,but Xander hasn’t been afraid of anything for a long time. Mostly.

The button pops easily, little ball of copper through threadbare hole. The backs of Xander’s knuckles graze against Remus’ cock when he pulls down the zipper. Remus hisses, his eyes falling shut for a moment. When he opens them again, all Xander can see is black. Remus lifts his hips long enough for Xander to work his pants and briefs off. His thighs are thick and covered in light blonde hair. Xander presses a kiss to a scar right above Remus’ knee and steels himself.

He’s going to suck a dick in approximately four seconds. Oh, god.

Remus’ cock is long and thin, curving up against his left hip. Xander pauses for a moment when he sees the fold of foreskin pulled back from the dark head. Oh, good. Extra dick for his pleasure. Carefully, he wraps a hand around him, testing out the weight against his palm. Remus sighs, thighs falling open wider to let Xander fit between them.

Xander tucks his arms under Remus’ knees and leans in. The first swipe of his tongue against the head of Remus’ cock is strange but good, familiar sex taste filling his mouth. He thinks about the endlessly awesome blowjobs he’d gotten from Anya- feel sadness and guilt swell up for a moment- and tries to remember what feels best.

“You like that?” Xander asks, brushing his lips over the base of Remus’ cock. It’s hot and solid, twitching up towards his mouth eagerly. Remus doesn’t answer him, but he does reach down to thread his fingers into Xander’s hair. When Xander sucks him in, not brave enough to go much farther than the head, his thighs tremble against Xander’s shoulders. Power, thy name is Xander. 

It’s easy to start a rhythm, a quick bob of his head, guided by the firm pressure of Remus’ hand The soft moans coming from above him go straight to his dick. His pants are way too tight, but he doesn’t want to disrupt this by moving. 

His eye patch is digging into his cheek, rubbing the skin under it raw. He doesn’t stop Remus when gentle fingertips tuck beneath the band and pull it off. Doesn’t try to hide his face away. He know what he looks like under there, how bad Caleb got him, but Remus’ cock stays hard against his tongue and no one runs for the hills.

He guesses it was probably good that he wasn’t much to look at before the accident. It would be a shame to have ruined a pretty face.

Curiously, Xander presses his thumb to the soft skin behind Remus’ full, heavy balls. The effect is immediate. Remus’ hips move up, his dick slipping farther into Xander’s mouth than he’s totally comfortable with. He groans, head tipping back against the pillows. Xander does it again, just to test it out, and Remus rewards him with another one of those terrifying, unrepentantly sexy growls.

Cool. A happy button.

If he were braver, if he had condoms and vaseline, he’d ask to fuck him. He thinks about sliding into the scorching heat of Remus’ body and has to free a hand to unzip his pants. Christ, he’s _aching_. 

His jaw is starting to hurt, stretched too wide open, but Remus’ breath is hitching and his hips are doing this rolling thing that Xander really needs to remember and his balls are drawing up tight against his body. He’s so close and Xander can feel it, an entirely different set of warning signals than with a girl.

Remus’ fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him away with a painful tug, apologizing even as thick pulses of come coat Xander’s knuckles. It would be almost sad if Remus didn’t look so hot. 

“All good?” Xander asks, crawling up over Remus, hand fumbling at his fly. When he gets his jeans and boxers down around his thighs, his cock jumps up against his belly and leaves a wet smear across his skin.

“Very,” Remus says solemnly before he’s overtaken by a post-happy grin. He wraps his arms around Xander’s shoulders and pulls him down, kissing him breathless. Xander’s missed this _so fucking much_.

One of Remus’ hands slide over Xander’s slick side, smearing his sweat, and then wraps around his cock. It is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in the world. Xander’s sure of it. He groans, mouth open against Remus’ throat, and thrusts into his fist.

“Christ, that’s good,” he mumbles, teeth scraping skin. He bites a little, feels that rumble against his lips, and swears. “So good. Oh-” He’s babbling, mouth working without him like it usually does, but Remus seems to find it more endearing than anything else, laughing softly as Xander falls slowly apart.

Remus grabs Xander’s ass with his free hand, helping him pick up the pace, and Xander thinks about _him_ doing the fucking, and that’s it. That’s all she wrote. He sinks his teeth into Remus’ shoulder as he comes, shaking. 

Remus huffs out a clipped breath when Xander collapses on top of him but doesn’t make to shove him off. In the sweet, sweet afterglow, his heat is almost too much, but Xander can’t make himself move away from it. He’s missed this, too. The after, the snuggling up in a satisfied pile of arms and legs and sweat.

Eventually, Xander forces his limp arms to push him up, manages to wiggle out of his jeans. The mattress is soft under his back. The quilt’s a lost cause, obvious stains already starting up on the floral print, but the maids are getting paid enough for him not to care. 

“Hi,” Xander says when he pulls Remus in against his chest. The edge of Remus’ mouth quirks up, and it’s that boyish charm coming out all over again.

“Hi,” he replies. He rests his head on Xander’s shoulder, one arm resting around Xander’s waist. This is good. This is nice. 

Maybe Remus will stay. Maybe they’ll get a round two in the morning before he leaves, disappearing back into urban England. Xander closes his eyes and tightens his hold on the body in his arms. He can think about it after a nap.

**Author's Note:**

> This was such an interesting read with such an interesting pairing. Xander, my bb Zeppo! Remus, my poor broken muffin! Bone it all better! I had to dip in and play. And then I did research, because I am pants at dates, and promptly banged my head against the desk. My notes were literally:
> 
>  
> 
> _Remus died in 1998. Xander was 17 and still in high school, flirting poorly with Kendra. You cannot make Remus bone a high schooler in the middle of the war, no matter how badly it falls into all your favorite tropes. No really. Stop that. IT IS NOT IN THE RULES. Also, Xander lost his eye at 22, JFC, LEAVE THE KID ALONE._


End file.
